NOVEMBER 4th, 2006.
My plan to see the Red States has hit a snag.
A snag called New Jersey.
Be advised, never rent a car from a company called 'Clunkers 4 Rent.' I learned that it's not a cute gimmick, merely a statement of fact.
I also learned that Earthling automobiles do not have anti-gravity generators, and thus are unable to fly.
So I place the blame for my predicament about 50/50 between myself and the rental agency with the suprisingly misleading yet honest name.
Earthlings call this place The Garden State. I don't know why, I couldn't see a single tree in Newark, though the smell did remind me of fertilizer.
"Wat f*ckin' exit yuse from?" asked a young woman as I pulled myself from the wreckage of my rented Chevy Impala.
"What did you say?" I asked.
"Wat f*ckin' exit yuse f*ckin from?" repeated the woman.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Yuse f*ckin' ain't from f*ckin around here?" she asked.
"I thought the big blue head might be a clue."
"You f*ckin' could be from f*ckin' Hoboken," said the woman. "Hey, yuse looks f*ckin' fermiliar. Ain't you that f*ckin Remulak MoxArgon?"
"As a matter of fact I am," I replied.
"It's f*ckin' me RT," she said, holding out her hand.
"I didn't recognise you from the way you talk," I said as I shook her hand.
"Yeah," she said, "I f*ckin' write f*ckin all f*ckin different, but f*ckin everyone in f*ckin Jersey f*ckin talks this f*ckin way, ain't you f*ckin seen the f*ckin Sopranos?"
"Truth is stranger than fiction," I said. "Say, can you give me a lift to the airport?"
"F*ckin sure," said RT.
"Who are you?" asked the clerk at the counter.
"I'm Kos!" screamed the man ahead of me. "I'm the most important political thinker in this rotting cesspool of a country! I am the voice of the people, now get my goddamn flight running on time!"
"I can't control the weather," said the clerk with the bland monotone brought on by years of dealing with people at their most asinine. I know that tone, my third wife uses it a lot when she talks to me.
"Who put you up to this?" screamed Kos. "Did Rove do it!?! Answer me damn it! I'm the kingmaker in this dung heap of a country, I--"
ZAP!
Kos fell to the floor at my feet, a big wet stain forming at the front of his pants.
"What did you do?" asked the clerk.
"It's called the Flokian nerve pinch," I said, "his whining was getting on my nerves."
"Is he all right?"
"He'll be fine," I answered. "Just a little brain damage leaving him unable to pick a winning candidate. So they'll be no change. I'd like a ticket to Texas please."
"First class all the way," said the clerk.
Texas here I come.
My plan to see the Red States has hit a snag.
A snag called New Jersey.
Be advised, never rent a car from a company called 'Clunkers 4 Rent.' I learned that it's not a cute gimmick, merely a statement of fact.
I also learned that Earthling automobiles do not have anti-gravity generators, and thus are unable to fly.
So I place the blame for my predicament about 50/50 between myself and the rental agency with the suprisingly misleading yet honest name.
Earthlings call this place The Garden State. I don't know why, I couldn't see a single tree in Newark, though the smell did remind me of fertilizer.
"Wat f*ckin' exit yuse from?" asked a young woman as I pulled myself from the wreckage of my rented Chevy Impala.
"What did you say?" I asked.
"Wat f*ckin' exit yuse f*ckin from?" repeated the woman.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Yuse f*ckin' ain't from f*ckin around here?" she asked.
"I thought the big blue head might be a clue."
"You f*ckin' could be from f*ckin' Hoboken," said the woman. "Hey, yuse looks f*ckin' fermiliar. Ain't you that f*ckin Remulak MoxArgon?"
"As a matter of fact I am," I replied.
"It's f*ckin' me RT," she said, holding out her hand.
"I didn't recognise you from the way you talk," I said as I shook her hand.
"Yeah," she said, "I f*ckin' write f*ckin all f*ckin different, but f*ckin everyone in f*ckin Jersey f*ckin talks this f*ckin way, ain't you f*ckin seen the f*ckin Sopranos?"
"Truth is stranger than fiction," I said. "Say, can you give me a lift to the airport?"
"F*ckin sure," said RT.
***
"I can't believe this," screamed a wormy looking fellow ahead of me in line at the ticket counter. "I'm supposed to be in California for a Ned Lamont rally, not waiting in New Jersey because a scuzzy little prole like you told me my flight is delayed! Don't you know who I am!?!""Who are you?" asked the clerk at the counter.
"I'm Kos!" screamed the man ahead of me. "I'm the most important political thinker in this rotting cesspool of a country! I am the voice of the people, now get my goddamn flight running on time!"
"I can't control the weather," said the clerk with the bland monotone brought on by years of dealing with people at their most asinine. I know that tone, my third wife uses it a lot when she talks to me.
"Who put you up to this?" screamed Kos. "Did Rove do it!?! Answer me damn it! I'm the kingmaker in this dung heap of a country, I--"
ZAP!
Kos fell to the floor at my feet, a big wet stain forming at the front of his pants.
"What did you do?" asked the clerk.
"It's called the Flokian nerve pinch," I said, "his whining was getting on my nerves."
"Is he all right?"
"He'll be fine," I answered. "Just a little brain damage leaving him unable to pick a winning candidate. So they'll be no change. I'd like a ticket to Texas please."
"First class all the way," said the clerk.
Texas here I come.
1 comment:
What the f'ck was I doin' in f'ckin' Newark? I was at the wrong f*ckn' end of the f'ckn' state! I'm in South f'ckn' Jersey, where the f'ckn' farms are. Well, the farms here are now all f'ckn townhomes. Btw, that f'ckn' smell was Elizabeth (the town, not the girl).
And how the f'ck did I end up in a post with that mutha f'ckn' idiot Kos?
Glad you made it home you f'ckn blue headed freak! We missed you!
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